#Drafting capability statement

[reidmarieprentiss]

Short Shorts & Long Hair

Summary: Spencer does NOT want to go to physical therapy, but the pretty physical therapist might make it not so bad.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x PT fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: injury, suggestive content (16+), alcohol consumption, insecurities, rejection, use of Y/N

Word count: 11.6k

a/n: i went through pt with a huugggeeee crush on my physical therapist ,, wish they were single :(((

main masterlist part two

After Spencer Reid is shot in the thigh during a case, the last thing he wants is to endure the grueling process of physical therapy. The thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a stranger, let alone being intensely monitored, fills him with dread. Convinced that he can handle the recovery on his own, Spencer drafts a fake doctor’s note claiming he’s fit to perform his own therapy. Unfortunately for him, neither Hotch nor his orthopedic surgeon finds the attempt amusing. Despite his protests, Spencer is left with no choice but to attend physical therapy sessions, which also means being grounded from fieldwork and unable to join his team on cases. 

—

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a tension that only Spencer Reid seemed oblivious to as he sat at his desk, meticulously writing out what could have passed as an official-looking note. His expression was one of deep concentration, brow furrowed in that familiar way as he carefully crafted each word, determined to convince anyone who might read it that he, Dr. Spencer Reid, was fully capable of managing his own recovery. 

"To whom it may concern, Dr. Spencer Reid is fully capable of performing his own physical therapy regimen. As a medical professional and an expert in several fields, he does not require the services of an external physical therapist. Please excuse him from any mandated sessions."

He read over the note once more, satisfied with his work, before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. It was the perfect plan, he thought after all, who knew his body better than he did? He could research the most effective exercises, monitor his own progress, and avoid the discomfort of being intensely scrutinized by someone else. The thought of a stranger's hands on him, manipulating his body and injured leg, made his stomach turn. Spencer was resolute—he could handle this on his own.

But just as he was about to place the envelope on Hotch's desk, ready to hand it over with the casual nonchalance of a doctor delivering a prescription, the door to the office swung open. Aaron Hotchner stepped in, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. He caught sight of the envelope in Spencer's hand and the somewhat guilty look on the younger agent's face.

"Reid," Hotch said, his voice even but with a hint of curiosity, "what's that?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, knowing full well that Hotch wouldn't be easily convinced by his little stunt. But he decided to try anyway. "It's, um, a note. From me. For me. You see, I don't think I need to go to physical therapy. I’ve written a statement explaining that I can handle my own recovery. It’s all very professional."

Hotch's brow arched slightly as he reached out, taking the envelope from Spencer's hand. He opened it and quickly scanned the contents, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he looked up, meeting Spencer's eyes with a look that was both stern and almost amused.

"Spencer, you can't write your own doctor's notes. And even if you could, this isn’t a joke. Physical therapy is a necessary part of your recovery, and it’s not something you can just skip or handle on your own."

"But, Hotch—" Spencer began, his voice tinged with frustration. "I know what needs to be done. I don’t need someone else to tell me how to stretch or exercise. I can do the research, follow the protocols—"

"That’s not the point," Hotch interrupted, his tone firm. "Physical therapy isn’t just about the exercises. It’s about having a trained professional guide you through the process, ensure you’re doing it correctly, and adjust your treatment as needed. It’s about having someone to push you when you’re too tired or in too much pain to push yourself. You’re not invincible, Spencer."

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Hotch’s eyes stopped him. There was no room for negotiation. 

"And," Hotch continued, "I know your orthopedic surgeon would agree. I spoke with them earlier today. They were very clear that you need to attend every session if you want to make a full recovery. This isn’t optional."

Spencer felt the weight of Hotch’s words settling over him, heavy and unavoidable. He hated the idea of being in a clinical setting, of being vulnerable in front of someone else, of having to admit that he needed help. But he also knew that Hotch was right. Skipping therapy wasn’t just about avoiding discomfort—it was about jeopardizing his recovery and potentially his career.

"But if I go to therapy, I won’t be able to fly with the team," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, the frustration giving way to a sense of helplessness.

Hotch’s expression softened, just a little. "I know. And I know how hard that is for you. But your health comes first. You’ll still be a part of the team, but you need to take care of yourself. We can handle things in the field until you’re ready to come back."

Spencer nodded, though the idea of being left behind still gnawed at him. He could already imagine the isolation, the endless hours of exercises and stretches, the frustration of not being able to work cases with his team. But there was no getting around it. This was his reality now.

"Alright," Spencer finally said, his voice resigned. "I’ll go to the therapy sessions."

"Good," Hotch replied, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder in a rare gesture of support. "It’s the right decision. And remember, we’re all here for you, no matter what."

Spencer gave a small nod, appreciating the sentiment even as the prospect of therapy loomed over him like a dark cloud. He watched as Hotch left the office, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The room seemed quieter now, and Spencer sat there for a moment, the now-crumpled note still in his hand.

The first session was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and Spencer could already feel the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He wasn’t ready for this—not physically, not mentally. But it was happening, whether he liked it or not. And as much as he wished he could write himself out of it, this was one situation where even Spencer Reid had to admit that he couldn’t do it all on his own.

—

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains as Spencer reluctantly eyed the outfit his surgeon recommended. Loose-fitting clothes were manageable, but the shorts—revealing his pale, scarred leg—were far from his usual style. They made him feel vulnerable, a stark contrast to the comfort of his usual slacks and cardigans. With a resigned sigh, he slipped into the shorts and a loose t-shirt, feeling exposed.

Crutching out of his apartment, every step reminded him of his injury, amplifying his discomfort. The short drive to the physical therapy center only heightened his anxiety; the building felt more like a fortress than a place of healing.

Once inside, the overly cheerful receptionist bombarded him with questions, each interaction grating on his nerves. Finally, he was led to a private room—a sterile, clinical space that made him feel even more on edge. As he gingerly lowered himself onto the padded table, his leg throbbing slightly, Spencer’s mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming session, dreading the inevitable discomfort and the loss of control. The door would open soon, and a stranger would take charge, leaving him with no escape.

At last, a small knock echoed through the room before the door creaked open, revealing a young woman who couldn’t have been older than her mid-20s. Spencer’s breath caught for a moment—she was gorgeous, even in her casual athletic wear, her presence both striking and unexpectedly comforting.

“Hello, Spencer Reid?” you asked with a warm smile that seemed to light up the room. “I��m Dr. Y/L, but you can call me Y/N.”

"Hi, yes, I'm Spencer. Nice to meet you," he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of politeness and underlying nervousness.

"Nice to meet you too, Spencer," you replied with a warm smile as you settled in front of the computer, pulling up his chart. "Let's see... you got shot in the thigh, ouch. How did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

Spencer shifted slightly, the memory still fresh. "Uh, no, that's fine. I was chasing an unsub. I work for the FBI."

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Oh wow! That's cool... and painful. I'm sorry about that."

He gave a small shrug, trying to downplay the severity. "It comes with the job."

"I suppose it does," you said, nodding thoughtfully. "Anyway, let's get some basic info about how you're doing since surgery."

Together, you went through the routine baseline questions, Spencer answering each one with careful honesty. His responses were detailed, though you could sense a certain reluctance in his tone, as if he was holding back from fully engaging in the process.

"And finally, Spencer... what is your mobility like? Can you bend your knee?" you asked, glancing up from the computer to observe his reaction.

"Uh, a little," he replied, his discomfort becoming more evident as your attention shifted to his exposed leg.

"Can you show me, please?" you asked gently, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then slowly bent his knee, his movements tentative. Your eyes followed the motion, taking note of the stiffness and the clear effort it required.

"Okay, good… now, how far can you bend your other knee? In fact, do you mind if I measure? That way, we can compare later down the line to see the progress you're making," you explained, keeping your tone encouraging and professional.

"Mhm, fine," he murmured, giving a small nod of consent.

You moved closer with a measuring tool in hand, your focus entirely on ensuring accuracy. Spencer, on the other hand, felt his cheeks flush slightly under your scrutiny. The vulnerability of the situation, coupled with the physical closeness, made him acutely aware of every small movement. 

"Alright," you said after taking the measurements, offering him a reassuring smile. "We'll track these numbers as we go, and you'll be able to see just how much progress you're making. It might not feel like it now, but you'll get there."

Spencer nodded again, his nerves calming slightly at your supportive demeanor. Despite his initial reluctance, he was starting to see that this process, uncomfortable as it was, might just be what he needed.

"Okay, for today, we don't have to push you too far," you began, your tone gentle yet encouraging. "We'll just start with some easy movements to get a baseline for where you're at. How does that sound?"

"That's fine," Spencer replied, his voice steady, though there was still a hint of tension beneath the surface.

Together, you guided him through a series of basic movements, carefully observing how his injured leg compared to his non-injured one. Spencer followed your instructions with quiet focus, doing his best to move as much as he could without aggravating the injury. As you made your way down the list, you noted the differences in flexibility and strength, mentally preparing a plan for his recovery.

When you reached the last item on your list, you looked up from your notes. "Alright, Spencer, I'd like you to try flexing your quad. This is important because you'll need to be able to engage those muscles when you're ready to start walking again."

"I know," Spencer said, his tone tinged with resignation and a touch of impatience, as if he was more than aware of what was expected of him but still not entirely comfortable with the process.

You nodded, acknowledging his understanding. "Oh, okay, yes, well..." you hesitated for a moment, wanting to ensure his comfort. "Can I put my hand on your leg, Spencer? It'll help me gauge the muscle engagement."

Spencer looked at you for a brief moment, the vulnerability in his eyes evident. But he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, that's fine."

You placed your hand gently on his leg, just above the injured area, making sure your touch was as light and non-intrusive as possible. "Alright, go ahead and flex for me."

Spencer did as you asked, and you could feel the slight tremor in the muscle as it tried to respond. It was clear that the road ahead would be challenging, but this was a crucial first step. 

"Good job, Spencer," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. "This is the start, and we'll take it one step at a time. You'll get there, I promise."

"Thanks," Spencer muttered, his tone clipped but not intentionally rude. He was struggling to keep his frustration in check—not with you, but with the entire process. The vulnerability, the slowness of his progress, it all grated on him. But he couldn’t help but notice how kind and patient you were, never once letting his mood affect your demeanor.

You offered him a gentle smile, recognizing the weariness in his voice. "Alright, what do you say we call it a day?"

"Sounds good," Spencer replied, a bit of relief seeping into his tone. The session had been necessary, he knew that, but it was exhausting in more ways than one.

You helped him settle back into a comfortable position, gathering your notes and preparing to leave. "You did well today, Spencer. It's not easy, but you're making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

He gave a small nod, appreciating your words even if he didn’t fully believe them yet. As he watched you head for the door, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of gratitude. 

—

The next day, as Spencer made his way into the office, he immediately spotted Aaron Hotchner across the bullpen. Hotch was engaged in a conversation with another agent, but the moment he noticed Spencer, a subtle, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Spencer felt a mild irritation bubble up within him; he could already sense what was coming.

As he approached his desk, Hotch walked over, his expression that infuriating blend of concern and amusement. "Morning, Reid," Hotch greeted, his voice carrying that signature calm authority. "How did your first physical therapy session go?"

Spencer’s eyes narrowed slightly, detecting the faint smugness in Hotch’s tone. "It was… fine," he replied, trying to keep his voice even, though his annoyance was evident. He could tell Hotch was fishing for details, and it was clear that Hotch knew exactly how uncomfortable the whole experience had been for him.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing just a bit. "Just fine? No major complaints?"

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No major complaints," he echoed, though the look on his face said otherwise.

Hotch nodded, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "Good. Just remember, Reid, it's important to follow through with these sessions. They'll make all the difference in your recovery."

"Yes, I’m aware," Spencer replied, his tone a touch sharper than he intended. He knew Hotch was right, but that didn’t make the process any less frustrating.

Hotch chuckled softly, not unkindly, and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Spencer. You'll be back to chasing down unsubs in no time."

As Hotch walked away, Spencer let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. He knew Hotch meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being mildly annoyed at the subtle smugness in his boss’s demeanor. It seemed that, for now, Spencer would just have to endure the teasing—along with everything else this recovery was throwing at him.

—

At his next physical therapy session, Spencer walked in with a bit less tension in his shoulders, though he was still undeniably on edge. The familiarity of the setting, coupled with the fact that he knew what to expect, made things slightly easier. But the apprehension hadn’t fully dissipated. There was still the uncomfortable vulnerability that came with each session, the persistent reminder of his injury.

However, without the overwhelming cloud of nerves and frustration that had dominated his first visit, Spencer found himself noticing something different. As you greeted him with that same warm smile, guiding him through the initial check-in process, he couldn’t help but take in just how pretty you were. The realization caught him off guard, stirring a new wave of anxiety that he hadn’t anticipated. 

It wasn’t just your appearance—though that alone was enough to make his pulse quicken—but the way you carried yourself, the gentle confidence in your movements, and the patient way you spoke to him, even when he was less than cooperative. It was disarming, to say the least.

As the session progressed, and you asked him to move through the exercises, Spencer felt his heart rate increase—not just from the physical effort, but from the proximity, the way your hands occasionally brushed against his skin as you guided him. He tried to focus on the mechanics, on the steps you were instructing him through, but his mind kept drifting to the fact that you were so close, your attention entirely on him.

When you gently placed your hand on his leg to help him flex his quad, Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the warmth of your touch sending a jolt through him. He knew it was purely professional, that you were just doing your job, but it didn’t stop the nervous flutter in his stomach.

“Doing okay, Spencer?” you asked, your voice soft as you glanced up at him, concern flickering in your eyes. You could sense the shift in his demeanor, though you weren’t sure what had caused it.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, his voice a little unsteady. “I’m fine.”

You smiled, giving his leg a light pat before continuing with the session. “You’re doing great.”

Spencer nodded, trying to steady his breathing. But the truth was, having your hands and eyes on him, especially now that he was fully aware of how attractive you were, was even more nerve-wracking than the physical exercises themselves. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, worried that his unease was obvious.

As the session came to a close, Spencer felt a mix of relief and lingering nerves. He knew he’d be back, but the thought of facing these sessions with you—someone who was not only skilled and kind but also strikingly beautiful—added a new layer of complexity to an already difficult process.

—

As the weeks passed, a sense of familiarity began to settle between you and Spencer. It was inevitable, really—spending an hour together every week, working through the same routines, sharing small talk to fill the silence. The initial awkwardness had started to fade, replaced by a growing ease in each other's company. 

Spencer was still nervous around you, but it was a different kind of nervousness now. His crush had developed into something undeniable, and though it made his heart race whenever your hands brushed against him or you smiled in that particular way, he had learned to manage it. He even found himself engaging in playful conversation, something that had felt impossible during those first few sessions.

Today, as you guided him through another set of exercises, the conversation flowed naturally, the rapport between you evident.

“So, Spencer, any big plans this weekend?” you asked, your tone light and casual as you adjusted his leg for the next stretch.

Spencer, who had been concentrating on following your instructions, looked up with a faint smirk. “Yeah, I thought I might go skydiving,” he replied, deadpan, though his eyes twinkled with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the playful tone. “Hmm, sounds thrilling—and very safe,” you responded, matching his sarcasm.

He chuckled softly, a sound that was becoming more frequent as he grew more comfortable with you. “Yeah, I figured, why not? Might as well add another injury to the list, right?”

“Perfect plan,” you teased, giving his leg a gentle pat as you moved to the next exercise. “Just make sure to tell your orthopedic surgeon first. I’m sure they’ll love the idea.”

Spencer laughed, the tension in his body easing further with each passing moment. “I’m sure they’ll have a lot to say about it. But really, I’ll probably just catch up on some reading. Nothing too exciting.”

“Well, that sounds more like the Spencer I’ve come to know,” you said with a smile. “Anything interesting you’re reading?”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should share, but your genuine curiosity encouraged him to open up. “Actually, I’ve been revisiting some classic science fiction—Isaac Asimov’s *Foundation* series. It’s been a while, and I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

You nodded, impressed. “That’s a great choice. I’ve always admired Asimov’s ability to weave complex ideas into his stories. You’ll have to let me know what you think when you finish.”

“I will,” Spencer promised, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the session. These moments of connection, however small, were becoming something he looked forward to—a bright spot in what had been a difficult and frustrating process.

As the session wrapped up, Spencer found himself lingering a little longer than usual, reluctant to leave the comfortable rhythm you had developed together. 

—

During one of your sessions, as you guided Spencer through another set of stretches, the conversation drifted into more personal territory. Spencer, his curiosity getting the better of him, asked, "How old are you?"

You couldn’t help but tease him a little, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?"

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he immediately started to apologize, stumbling over his words. "Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just thought you looked so young."

You laughed, deciding to let him off the hook. "Why, thank you!" you said, exaggerating your response by pretending to flip your hair over your shoulder. "But I was just teasing, Spencer. I’m no lady," you added with a wink, enjoying the way it made him chuckle.

He relaxed a bit, his laughter easing the moment. "Well, now I’m even more curious."

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a grin. "I’m 26."

Spencer nodded, processing the information with a slight smile. "You’re younger than I thought… but somehow, that makes sense."

"Yeah? And how old did you think I was?" you asked, genuinely curious, your eyes fixed on him as you waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged, his expression thoughtful but with a hint of mischief. "I don’t know, maybe 50?"

You stared at him for a moment, deadpan, before replying with a sarcastic sweetness, "That’s so sweet of you, Spencer. Now tell me, am I supposed to push my thumb directly into your wound or just squeeze around it?"

His eyes widened in mock horror as he quickly backpedaled. "Neither! I’m sorry!" he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "You don’t look 50!"

"Yeah, well, you’re going to after I’m done with you," you shot back, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned in, pretending to consider where to apply pressure.

Spencer laughed, the tension melting away as the playful banter flowed between you. 

—

During another session, you glanced over at Spencer, who was carefully stretching his leg. "Okay, Spencer," you began, your tone encouraging, "let’s see if we can get a little more range of motion in your knee today. How’s it feeling?"

Spencer shrugged slightly. "Stiff, but manageable," he replied. "I’m trying not to overthink it."

You nodded in approval, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Good strategy. Just remember, slow and steady wins the race."

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I’ll keep that in mind… though I’ve never been very good at pacing myself."

—

Today you greeted him with a warm smile. "How’s the leg holding up today? Ready for some more fun?" you asked, your tone light and encouraging.

Spencer met your gaze with a playful grin, the tension from previous sessions now mostly replaced with a sense of friendship. "If by ‘fun’ you mean more quad exercises, then I can hardly contain my excitement," he quipped, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his response, enjoying the banter that had developed between the two of you. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it as enjoyable as possible," you teased back, a mischievous glint in your eye. "We can always spice it up with some trivia."

At that, Spencer’s expression brightened even more. "Trivia? Now you’re speaking my language," he replied, clearly intrigued. "Just don’t go easy on me."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your voice as you responded, "Wouldn’t dream of it. Get ready, Spencer. I hope you’ve been studying."

—

"Alright," you began, today there was a hint of mischief in your voice as you glanced at him . "Let’s see if we can get a little more flexibility out of that knee today. I know it’s your favorite part."

Spencer’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "You’re really starting to understand my love for torture," he quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm, though there was a softness in his expression that suggested he didn’t mind the challenge as much as he pretended to.

You couldn’t help but laugh, playing along with a mock-serious look. "Well, if it helps, I think I’m getting better at dishing it out. But seriously, you’re doing great," you added, your voice turning more sincere as you looked at him, hoping to convey how much progress he had truly made.

Spencer tilted his head, the teasing glint in his eyes growing stronger. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he remarked, clearly enjoying the banter.

With a playful wink, you replied, "I’ll keep that in mind."

—

“Okay, Spencer, this one’s going to be a bit tougher. Ready?” you asked, glancing at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes during this session.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you replied, your smirk matching his. “But I promise, if you make it through this, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Spencer’s other eyebrow joined the first, his interest piqued. “A bribe? How very professional of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Hey, whatever works. Besides, I know your weakness for good coffee.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “You’ve been paying attention. I might just have to hold you to that offer.”

“Deal,” you said with a playful wink, moving closer to guide him through the tougher exercises. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got, Dr. Reid.”

—

As Spencer walked into the therapy room for his session, he was greeted with a warm smile and a familiar, teasing tone. "How’s my favorite patient doing today?" you asked, your voice light and welcoming.

Spencer couldn’t help but return the smile, a playful glint in his eye as he replied, "Favorite? I’ll try not to let it go to my head."

You grinned, the banter between you both becoming second nature by now. "You’re lucky you’ve got that charm. Otherwise, I might make you do extra reps."

"I’ll remember that next time I’m tempted to be difficult," Spencer quipped, his tone just as playful, though there was a genuine warmth beneath it.

"Good plan," you said with a nod, before your expression softened slightly. "But seriously, you’re making great progress. Pretty soon, you’ll be back to chasing down unsubs."

Spencer’s smile grew a bit wider, the teasing still evident in his voice as he responded, "And I’ll be sure to tell them all about my excellent physical therapist."

A soft chuckle escaped you, and you met his gaze, your voice gentle as you said, "I’ll be waiting to hear that story."

—

While the team was out on a case, Spencer and Penelope found themselves working together in her Bat Cave, the hum of computers and the click of keys filling the otherwise quiet space. It was a rare moment of calm in their usually hectic lives, and Spencer appreciated the company, even if the work they were doing was still demanding.

“How’s Kevin?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence as he glanced over at Penelope.

Penelope paused for a moment, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she responded. “He’s… fine. We haven’t been on a date in a while.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Spencer inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“I’m not sure. We’re both busy, it’s not a big deal,” Penelope replied, her tone making it clear she didn’t want to delve too deeply into the subject. It was unlike her to brush off a topic so quickly, but Spencer respected her boundaries and decided not to press further.

Instead, Penelope shifted the focus, a mischievous glint in her eye as she asked, “How is your love life, Boy Wonder?”

Spencer snorted at the question, shaking his head. “Non-existent.”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with a mix of sympathy and determination. “Do you want me to set you up with someone? I have single friends!”

“No, thank you, I’m okay,” Spencer replied quickly, his voice firm but kind. The last thing he needed was to be thrust into a blind date arranged by Penelope, well-meaning as she was.

Penelope pouted slightly but didn’t push the issue. “Okay… but think about it!” she added, her tone playful, though there was a hint of genuine concern behind it.

Spencer just smiled, appreciating her efforts but knowing that his mind was already occupied with someone else—someone who made him look forward to his weekly therapy sessions in a way he hadn’t expected. But that was something he wasn’t quite ready to share, not yet.

—

“Ow!” Spencer winced as a sharp pain shot through his leg, catching both of you off guard.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to push too far. Are you okay?” Your voice was filled with concern as you immediately eased the pressure, your hands hovering just above his leg, ready to help if needed.

Spencer forced a small, embarrassed smile, trying to downplay the discomfort. “Yeah, hah, I’m fine,” he said, though his flushed cheeks told a different story.

You offered him a reassuring smile, sensing his unease. “It’s okay if we need to take a break.”

“Okay… maybe a little one,” he admitted, feeling a bit sheepish but grateful for the pause.

“For sure,” you said with a nod, standing up. “I’ll go get you some water.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, watching as you left the room. He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort.

When you returned, Spencer couldn’t help but notice how stunning you looked today—though, in truth, he thought you looked gorgeous every day. But something about today caught his attention more than usual. Your pants were form-fitting, hugging your figure in a way that made it hard for him to focus on anything else. And your top… well, it clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every roll, and, in this chilly room, every… bump. The air conditioning was doing its job a little too well.

Spencer quickly averted his gaze, feeling his face heat up, and hoped you hadn’t noticed the direction of his thoughts. He took the water you offered with a grateful nod, trying to distract himself from the sudden rush of awareness that had flooded his senses.

“Here you go,” you said, handing him the bottle with a warm smile. “Take your time, okay? We’ll go at your pace.”

“Thanks,” Spencer murmured, taking a sip of the cool water, though it did little to calm the warmth in his cheeks. He was still focused on recovering, but now there was an added layer of distraction—one that made the idea of these sessions both thrilling and terrifying.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay, doctor?” you asked, noticing the bright flush on Spencer’s face. Your concern was evident, your eyes searching his for any sign of discomfort beyond what he’d already admitted.

“Yes, doctor,” Spencer teased back with a small, sheepish grin. “Why?”

“Your face is really red,” you pointed out gently. “You can tell me if we need to be done for the day.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I promise,” he insisted, though the blush on his cheeks only deepened as he realized you’d noticed. He quickly tried to redirect the conversation. 

“Okay,” you said, still watching him carefully. “Let’s just rest for a bit. Can I sit?” You gestured to the patient bed where Spencer was currently resting.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, starting to scoot over to make room, but you plopped yourself down on the opposite end anyway, your casual movement making him relax a bit.

“So, um, do you have any fun plans for the weekend?” Spencer asked, eager to keep the conversation going and to steer it away from his embarrassment.

“Yeah, actually! I’m going to a new club with some friends,” you responded with a bright smile, clearly looking forward to it.

“Nice,” Spencer said, though internally, he had no idea what going to a club entailed. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Still, he was trying to be polite and keep the conversation light. “Will your boyfriend be going?”

Your brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but there was a playful glint in your eyes. “Who told you I have a boyfriend?”

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat, a pang of regret hitting him as he fumbled for words. “Uh, I just, um, assumed…”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, no, he’s not going. He’s not allowed in.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, confusion and curiosity in his voice. “Why?”

“They frown upon bringing dogs into clubs,” you replied with a grin, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Spencer blinked, processing your words, before a wide smile spread across his face. “You had me there for a second.”

“Good,” you teased back, your laughter light and infectious. “I’m single, Spencer. Just me and my dog.”

Spencer’s heart, which had momentarily broken at the thought of you having a boyfriend, slowly pieced itself back together. The relief he felt was palpable, though he tried not to show it too much. “Well, your dog sounds like great company.”

“He is,” you agreed, still smiling as you settled more comfortably on the bed. “But it’s nice to have human company too.”

Spencer nodded, his own smile lingering as the tension between you two melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable rapport that made him feel just a bit braver. “I’ll, um, have to think of something fun to do this weekend too.”

“Well,” you said, giving him a playful nudge with your foot, “if you need ideas, you know where to find me.”

—

Spencer had spent the weekend mentally preparing himself, trying to muster up the courage to take a step outside his comfort zone and maybe even visit the club you had mentioned. But as the days passed, the idea of loud music, crowded spaces, and unfamiliar social dynamics became more daunting than exciting. In the end, he stayed home, retreating to the familiar comfort of his books and routine. 

However, something had shifted in him after your last conversation. The way you had laughed, the playful teasing about your “boyfriend,” and the easy, comfortable rapport between you—it all made Spencer feel like maybe, just maybe, his attraction to you wasn’t as one-sided as he had feared. That small spark of hope ignited something in him, and by the time his next session rolled around, he was determined to push the boundaries of your interactions, just a little.

As soon as he walked into the room, he could tell there was a different energy in the air. You greeted him with your usual warm smile, but there was something in your eyes, a glint that made his heart race just a bit faster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said, your voice bright as you guided him to the usual spot. “How was your weekend? Did you end up finding something fun to do?”

Spencer hesitated for a split second, then decided to go for it. “Well, I thought about going to that club you mentioned,” he began, watching your reaction carefully.

“Oh really?” you asked, clearly intrigued. “What happened? Did you chicken out?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “But I figured if I was going to do something that bold, I’d need a good reason. Maybe some company?”

Spencer's confidence had been steadily growing throughout the session, especially after the playful banter you shared earlier. But when you leaned in just a bit closer, your eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, and said, “Company, huh? I’m sure you could find someone to go with you,” he felt a sudden drop in his stomach. 

He tried to keep the conversation going, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation entirely. “Yeah? Do you know anyone?” he asked, forcing a smile to mask the uncertainty creeping in.

You tilted your head, a teasing grin on your lips as you replied, “I can’t say I do, but if I find someone who screams ‘Spencer Reid,’ I’ll send them your way.” You finished with a wink before turning your attention back to the session.

Spencer’s heart sank. Had he completely misjudged the situation? Maybe his earlier confidence had been misplaced, and the connection he thought was there was just friendly banter after all. As you continued guiding him through the exercises, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of defeat, the playful atmosphere from earlier now tinged with doubt.

Later in the session, you left the room to grab one of the measuring tools you needed, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts. He leaned back on the patient bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to shake off the disappointment gnawing at him.

That’s when he heard voices in the hallway, one of them unmistakably yours. He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop, but curiosity—and maybe a bit of desperation—got the better of him. He strained to listen, his heart beating faster as he realized you were talking about him.

“You think he was going to ask you out?” said another female voice.

“I don’t know, it seemed like it,” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of uncertainty. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been that obvious?

“Isn’t that good? I thought you said he was cute and funny,” the other voice continued, sounding encouraging.

There was a brief pause before you responded, your voice a bit softer. “He’s my patient, it doesn’t matter. That can’t happen.”

Spencer’s heart sank further. So that was it. The connection he felt was real, but there was an undeniable barrier between you two—one that you weren’t willing to cross.

“You’re right. Just be nice,” the other voice advised.

“I always am,” you replied, your tone resigned but still kind.

A moment later, the door to the room opened, and you reentered with the measuring tool in hand. Your expression was as warm and professional as ever, but Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that had settled in his chest. He forced a smile, trying to act as if he hadn’t overheard anything, though the knowledge weighed heavily on him.

The rest of the session continued, but the lightheartedness from earlier was replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere. Spencer kept up the conversation as best he could, but there was a lingering sadness beneath his words. It wasn’t just about his injury anymore—it was about the realization that, no matter how much he might want it, there were some lines that simply couldn’t be crossed.

—

“Hey, Penelope?” Spencer’s voice carried a hint of hesitance as he approached her workstation, trying to muster up the courage for what he was about to ask.

Penelope swiveled her chair around, her bright eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of him. “Yes, my love?” she replied, her usual affectionate tone bringing a small smile to Spencer’s face.

“Do you still have a friend you could set me up with?” Spencer asked, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to ask, but after the recent disappointment, he figured it might be worth a shot.

Penelope’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward, her hands clasped together in excitement. “Are you serious? You’re being for real? You’re not just messing with me?”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at her enthusiasm. “I’m being very serious.”

A squeal of delight escaped Penelope as she practically bounced in her seat. “Yes! I have the perfect friend for you! Oh em gee!!!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable.

Spencer chuckled, feeling some of his earlier doubts melt away in the face of Penelope’s infectious energy. Maybe this wasn’t what he had originally hoped for, but seeing her so happy about helping him made him feel like he was making the right choice. 

“Tell me everything!” Penelope demanded, her fingers already flying across her keyboard as she began to plan out every detail. “What are you looking for? What should I tell her about you? Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

Spencer smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It wasn’t the path he had initially imagined, but maybe this new direction would lead to something just as fulfilling. “I trust your judgment, Penelope,” he said with a grin. “Just… make sure she’s okay with a guy who’s a little bit of a nerd, and on crutches.”

Penelope beamed, her heart bursting with joy at the prospect of playing matchmaker for her dear friend. “Spencer Reid, you’re in the best hands. She’s going to love you.”

—

The night of Spencer's blind date had arrived, and his nerves were running rampant. Despite trusting Penelope’s judgment, he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him. She had insisted that he fully embrace the blind date experience, right down to not even knowing the woman’s name. All she had told him was that he should look for a woman in a red dress.

Sitting at the table in the cozy, dimly lit restaurant, Spencer tried to steady his breathing, his fingers drumming nervously against the tablecloth. The uncertainty was overwhelming, and he found himself glancing at the door every few seconds, half-expecting to make a quick exit if things went south.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, and with every passing moment, his heart beat faster. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of deep red fabric. He turned, his breath hitching as he saw the back of a woman at the host's stand, her figure silhouetted perfectly in the elegant red dress. Even from behind, she looked stunning, and for a brief moment, Spencer felt a flicker of excitement, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

But as she turned to scan the room, her eyes searching for him, Spencer’s heart nearly stopped. It was you.

All the blood seemed to drain from his face as he sat there, frozen in place. His mind raced, trying to process what was happening. Of all the people in the world, Penelope had set him up with you—his physical therapist, the woman he had been crushing on for weeks.

You spotted him almost instantly, your eyes widening in surprise, and for a moment, you looked just as shocked as he felt. But then your expression softened, and a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Spencer swallowed hard, his anxiety now mixing with a sense of disbelief. He hadn’t expected this at all. What were the chances? He could barely keep his thoughts straight as you walked toward him, your movements graceful and confident, though there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that mirrored his own.

“Spencer?” you said softly as you reached the table, your voice laced with surprise and something else—something warm, perhaps even hopeful.

He managed to nod, still struggling to find his voice. “Y-Yes… it’s me,” he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. “I didn’t… I had no idea…”

You chuckled softly, the sound doing wonders to ease the tension between you. “Neither did I,” you admitted, settling into the seat across from him. There was a playful glint in your eye as you added, “I guess you work in the BAU at the FBI, huh?”

Spencer nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I do. How do you know Penelope?”

“We do wine and painting together every month,” you explained with a fond smile, recalling the origins of your friendship. “After a few classes, we started sitting together, and the rest is history.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe you’re my blind date.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, matching his smile with one of your own.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before asking, “Is that okay? I know I’m your patient…”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words before replying with a hint of teasing in your voice. “Well, technically, I’m not supposed to see my patients outside of PT… but I’ll make an exception for tonight.”

“Right, tonight,” Spencer echoed, relief and excitement coursing through him. He could hardly believe how the evening had unfolded, but there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

The two of you shared a moment of quiet understanding, the reality of the situation settling in. Despite the unexpected turn of events, the chemistry between you was undeniable, and the restrictions that had once seemed so daunting now felt less significant in the warm glow of the restaurant's soft lighting.

As the evening progressed and the initial surprise wore off, the conversation between you and Spencer flowed effortlessly. There was a natural rhythm to your interactions, a playfulness that neither of you could resist indulging in.

“So, Spencer,” you began, taking a sip of your wine and meeting his gaze over the candlelit table, “what’s it like being a genius? Do you just know everything, or do you still get surprised sometimes?”

Spencer chuckled, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I know everything,” he replied, his tone modest but with a teasing glint in his eye. “I get surprised plenty—like tonight, for example.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Surprised in a good way, I hope?”

“Very good,” Spencer admitted, his eyes flickering to yours, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “I mean, how often does someone get set up on a blind date with someone they already know—and like?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, the pink tint spreading across his cheeks as he looked at you with wide eyes. "Oh, you like me, do you?" you teased, your voice light and playful, but with a hint of something more beneath the surface.

"Was that not obvious?" Spencer stammered, his blush deepening further, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he was.

"It was plenty obvious, Doctor. Don’t worry," you reassured him, leaning in just slightly to close the distance between you.

Spencer let out a small, relieved laugh. "Oh goodie! I was worried I wasn’t making a fool out of myself."

"You weren’t," you said softly, your smile growing as you watched him. There was something so genuine about Spencer, something that made it easy to be honest with him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Absolutely," Spencer replied, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, mimicking your earlier movement. "I might tell everyone I know, but you can still tell me."

You giggled at his response, the sound light and full of warmth. "Amazing," you said, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don’t have to touch you as much as I do during our sessions... I just really like how your legs look in those shorts."

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed completely caught off guard. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out. Finally, he managed to stammer, "You… you what?"

"I like how your legs look," you repeated, your tone playful yet sincere. "And those shorts you wear? They make it hard to keep things strictly professional."

Spencer’s blush, which had just started to fade, flared up again in full force. He let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I had no idea… I mean, I didn’t think—"

"You’re cute when you’re flustered," you interrupted gently, reaching out to place a hand over his. The gesture was simple, but it sent a jolt of warmth through both of you. "And just so you know, you’re definitely not making a fool out of yourself. In fact, I’m really glad Penelope set this up."

Spencer looked down at your hand on his, then back up at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and affection. "Me too," he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. "More than you know."

—

As the waiter poured the wine, the atmosphere between you and Spencer lightened even more, the earlier nerves melting away with each sip. You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched Spencer take a tentative sip from his glass, his expression one of cautious appreciation.

"How’s the wine, Doctor?" you teased, raising your glass to him with a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass like he was trying to remember some long-forgotten etiquette. "I think it’s good," he said, though his tone was more curious than certain. "I’m not exactly a connoisseur, but I think I could get used to this."

"Oh, I bet you could," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And who knows, maybe by the end of the night, you’ll be an expert."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "Are you planning on getting me drunk?"

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as you replied, "Maybe just tipsy enough to loosen you up, Doctor. You’re pretty cute when you’re not overthinking everything."

He laughed, a sound that was becoming more frequent as the evening went on. "Is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I should order another bottle."

"Oh, I see how it is," you giggled, raising your glass to take another sip. "Trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill all my secrets?"

Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t need wine for that. You already admitted you like how my legs look in those shorts."

You laughed, the sound bubbly and warm, and you playfully nudged him with your foot under the table. "Guilty as charged. But don’t get too cocky, Doctor Reid. I’ve got plenty more secrets I haven’t shared yet."

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, and he leaned back in his chair, giving you an appreciative once-over. "Now that’s something I’d like to hear more about," he said, his tone flirtatious but with a genuine interest that made your heart flutter.

You smirked, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, you’ll have to earn those secrets, Spencer. I don’t just give them away."

"Challenge accepted," Spencer replied, his grin widening as he clinked his glass against yours. "But I warn you, I’m pretty good at uncovering secrets."

"Is that so?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then."

"I think I’d like that," Spencer said, his voice softening as he held your gaze, the playful banter giving way to something a bit more serious, but no less exciting.

The wine continued to flow, and with it, the conversation grew flirtier, the two of you slipping into a comfortable rhythm that was as intoxicating as the wine itself. The night felt like a blur of laughter, teasing words, and shared glances, each one charged with a growing connection that neither of you could deny.

As the glasses emptied and the night wore on, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something new—something wonderful. And by the way you were looking at him, your smile bright and your eyes full of promise, he had a feeling you were thinking the same thing.

—

You held the door open for Spencer as you both exited the restaurant, then hailed a cab with practiced ease. Spencer couldn’t help but notice the way you held the door open for him once more, a small gesture that felt both kind and distant at the same time.

“One stop or two?” the cab driver asked, his voice breaking through the quiet night air.

“Two,” you responded, offering Spencer an apologetic smile that made his heart sink just a little.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Spencer started to get the sense that this night—this connection—was slipping away, becoming nothing more than a fleeting exchange.

“This isn’t going to continue, is it?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with the disappointment he was trying to keep at bay.

You sighed softly, placing your hand gently on his, your expression filled with genuine regret. “Spencer,” you began, your voice tender but firm, “I’m your physical therapist. You’re my patient.”

“But we like each other,” Spencer pressed, his heart pounding with the desperate hope that maybe, somehow, you could make this work.

“So much,” you agreed, your eyes softening as you met his gaze. “But I can’t cross that boundary.”

“We already did,” he argued, his tone filled with frustration and a touch of disbelief. “We’re more than just patient and therapist.”

You nodded, your expression pained. “We’re friends, and we had a meal together,” you said gently. “But I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t let it go beyond that.”

As the cab pulled up outside Spencer’s building, he gave you a look that was filled with hurt, disappointment, and a sense of finality. “Maybe Penelope isn’t as good of a matchmaker as I thought,” he muttered, his voice heavy with emotion. Then, without waiting for a response, he slammed the door to the cab shut, the sound echoing in the night as he moved away.

You watched him go, a heavy weight settling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him—far from it. But the lines had been drawn, and you knew you couldn’t cross them, no matter how much you wished you could. As the cab pulled away, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been, even as you tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing.

—

“Spencer, baby!” Penelope’s voice rang out the moment he stepped into the office the next morning. She rushed over to him, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. “How was your date? Did you love her? I know you did!”

Spencer’s expression was flat, his usual warmth replaced by a cool detachment. “I did not,” he replied, his tone clipped and final.

Penelope’s face fell instantly, the excitement draining from her features as she looked at him in shock. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “But… what happened? I thought it was going to be perfect.”

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. “It wasn’t what I expected, Penelope. I… we had a nice time, but she made it clear that it couldn’t go anywhere.”

“But… but why?” Penelope stammered, clearly upset. “I thought she was perfect for you! I mean, I was so sure…”

“She was,” Spencer admitted, his voice softening. “She’s great, really. But she’s my physical therapist, and she didn’t want to cross that boundary.”

Penelope’s shoulders slumped, guilt and sadness flooding her eyes. “Oh, Spencer… I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just thought… I just wanted you to be happy.”

Spencer gave her a small, sad smile, trying to ease the tension. “I know, Penelope. And I appreciate it. You were trying to help, and I’m grateful for that.”

Penelope nodded, tears welling up in her eyes as she reached out to hug him. “I’m really sorry, Spencer. I never wanted to make things harder for you.”

Spencer hugged her back, his voice gentle as he reassured her. “It’s okay. You didn’t know, and it’s not your fault. I’m glad you care enough to try.”

Penelope pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just… I just want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

“I know,” Spencer said, giving her another small smile. “And I will. Just… not this time.”

Penelope nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of unintended consequences. She wanted so badly to make things right for him, but now she could only hope that time would help heal the disappointment she had inadvertently caused.

—

“Y/N, you have a new patient today,” your supervisor informed you as you glanced up from the paperwork on your desk.

“What about Spencer Reid?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, though the question carried more weight than you intended.

“He’s seeing a different therapist,” your supervisor replied, flipping through the schedule without much thought.

“Oh…” The single syllable lingered in the air, heavy with disappointment. You hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can I ask why?”

Your supervisor looked up, her expression indifferent as she explained, “Something about your schedule not fitting his anymore.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the news. “Okay, that’s—” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “that’s fine.”

But as you turned back to your paperwork, the reality of the situation sank in. It wasn’t just about schedules or convenience; this was the consequence of the boundary you had enforced, the one that was meant to protect both of you. Yet, knowing that Spencer was now in someone else’s care left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t anticipated.

The rest of the day felt a little off-kilter, your thoughts drifting back to Spencer more often than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing, whether he was okay, and if he understood why things had to be this way. It was the right decision, you reminded yourself, even if it didn’t feel like it.

—

“Penny, he dropped me,” you said, your voice heavy with disappointment as you leaned against the doorframe of Penelope’s kitchen. “He’s not even my patient anymore.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, but then a grin spread across her face. “That’s great! You can date now!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple, Penny. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Penelope’s expression softened, and she gave you a sympathetic look. “He’ll come around. He just feels rejected, that’s all. You could go explain yourself, you know.”

“I don’t even have his number,” you admitted, feeling a pang of helplessness. It wasn’t like you could just show up at his door and expect him to listen. The lines between patient and therapist had already been blurred, and now they were more complicated than ever.

“Uhh, don’t be silly, missy. I do,” Penelope said with a playful smirk, pulling out her phone and waving it in the air like it was the answer to all your problems.

You blinked, surprised by her quick solution. “You’d really give it to me?”

“Of course!” Penelope replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of determination. “Spencer’s my friend, and so are you. If there’s a chance you two can work this out, I’m all for it.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks, but the thought of not reaching out to Spencer gnawed at you. Maybe Penelope was right; maybe you needed to explain yourself, to let him know how you really felt.

“Okay,” you said finally, your resolve strengthening. “Give me his number.”

Penelope’s grin widened as she quickly typed on her phone and handed it over to you. “Go get him, girl.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and hope as you took the phone from her. “Thanks, Penny. I’ll try.”

—

Later that night, as you sat in the comfort of your apartment, the familiar hum of city life just outside your window, you finally mustered up the courage to dial the number Penelope had given you. Your heart pounded in your chest, each ring feeling like an eternity until you heard his voice on the other end.

“Spencer Reid, who is calling?”

“Hey… it’s Y/N. Your ex-therapist,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, trying to gauge his reaction.

There was a brief pause before he responded, “Oh.”

The single word carried a weight that made your stomach churn with anxiety. You took a deep breath, pushing forward despite the tension. “Yeah, I hope it’s okay I got your number from Penny.”

“Why?” Spencer’s voice was guarded, and you could tell he was still hurting.

“I wanted to talk to you. Can we meet up?” you asked, trying to keep your tone hopeful, though the uncertainty gnawed at you.

“When?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

“Tomorrow? You could come over?” you suggested, hoping the familiar, private setting might make things a bit easier.

“Fine. Send me your address,” Spencer replied, his tone clipped but not completely closed off.

“Okay, see you—” you started to say, but the line went dead before you could finish. You stared at your phone, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation swirling in your chest.

He was coming over. You had a chance to explain, to make things right. But now that the call was over, the reality of what tomorrow might bring settled in. You just hoped that when the time came, you’d find the right words to say.

—

Spencer knocked with perfect punctuality, 6 pm sharp, just as you were adjusting the final details in your apartment. The soft sound of the knock sent a flutter through your chest, a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

You opened the door to find him standing there, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened as he took you in. “Hi,” you breathed, a bit of your earlier confidence wavering under his gaze.

“Hi, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and calm, though you could tell he was just as unsure as you were. Your beauty, as always, took him by surprise, rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Spencer stepped into your apartment, his eyes immediately scanning the space. The warm, inviting atmosphere of your home greeted him, filled with soft light from the setting sun filtering through the windows. The room was decorated with personal touches—lush green plants, carefully selected books lining the wooden shelves, and artwork that gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel. It was a reflection of you, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for how things had turned out.

“Can I pour you some wine? I found the one from the restaurant,” you offered, trying to break the tension and bring back a little of the familiarity you both shared that night.

“Sure, thank you,” Spencer replied, his tone polite but still holding a touch of reserve.

You moved to the kitchen area, retrieving the bottle of wine and two glasses. As you poured, you could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up just yet. There was so much unsaid between you, so much that needed to be addressed, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Handing him a glass, you finally met his gaze. “I’m really glad you came,” you said softly, your sincerity clear.

Spencer took the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. “I wasn’t sure if I should,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I know,” you replied, taking a small sip of your wine to steady yourself. “But I’m glad you did. We need to talk, Spencer. I need to explain.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. “Yeah… we do.”

You gestured toward the comfortable seating area, and the two of you moved to sit down, the warmth of the room offering a bit of comfort as you prepared to finally have the conversation that had been hanging over you both.

Spencer settled onto the couch, his posture stiff as he tried to maintain a semblance of calm. The warmth of your apartment contrasted with the tension between you, and he took a slow sip of his wine, waiting for you to speak.

You sat across from him, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched for the right words. After a moment of silence, you decided to just be honest. “I’m sorry I rejected you,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “That was wrong of me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered with surprise, but he remained silent, letting you continue.

“There are things we could have done,” you went on, feeling a weight lift slightly as you spoke. “Ways we could have moved around the rules, ways to handle it more delicately. But instead, I stiffed you and hurt you. I didn’t give us a chance to figure it out. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around his glass, his expression a mixture of emotions—confusion, hurt, and perhaps a bit of understanding. “It wasn’t just about the rules, was it?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, it wasn’t. I was scared, Spencer. Scared of crossing a line, of losing my job, of making a mistake that couldn’t be undone. But in trying to protect myself, I ended up hurting you… and that’s something I never wanted to do.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I understand why you were scared,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know,” you whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “And I can’t take back what I did. But I want you to know that I care about you, Spencer. I really do. And if there’s any way we can move forward—whether that’s as friends or something more—I’m willing to try.”

Spencer looked down at his glass, his mind clearly racing as he processed your words. After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked back up at you, his expression gentler than before.

“I care about you too,” he said quietly. “And I want to move forward. But I need to know that we’re both on the same page, that this isn’t just something we’re doing because of… circumstances.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he was willing to talk about it. “I agree. I don’t want to force anything. But I also don’t want to walk away from something that could be real, just because it’s complicated.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “I guess we’re both pretty good at making things complicated, huh?”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a bit. “Yeah, we are. But maybe… maybe we can figure it out together?”

Spencer took another sip of his wine, his smile growing a little more confident. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice warm and genuine.

And with those simple words, the gap that had formed between you began to close, replaced by the possibility of something new—a fresh start, built on honesty, understanding, and the connection you both knew was there all along.

Spencer’s tentative smile grew into something more playful as he leaned back slightly, the tension between you all but dissolved. “Does that mean free, private physical therapy sessions?” he teased, his tone light, though there was a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing the last remnants of anxiety you had been holding onto. Leaning forward, you matched his playful tone, raising an eyebrow as you replied, “Only if you don’t wear any shorts.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he laughed—a deep, genuine sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll have to consider that,” he quipped, the playful banter between you rekindling that familiar connection.

“Well, take your time,” you said with a grin, feeling the ease and comfort return between you. “But just so you know, I’m a lot stricter when it comes to private sessions.”

“Is that so?” Spencer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Maybe I’m up for the challenge.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the flirtation now fully out in the open. “Well, Doctor Reid, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while,” you replied, your tone equally soft and playful.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the air between you charged with excitement and anticipation. The conversation had started with apologies and uncertainty, but now, sitting here together, it felt like the beginning of something new—something you were both more than ready to explore.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot to figure out,” Spencer said softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a warm smile spreading across your face. “But I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

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tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[msfantasy-comics]

The Friends to Lovers

Jason Todd x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: Best friends who have known each other for years. Suddenly, Jason and Y/n realise their deeper feelings, leading to an unexpected romance

A/n: YALL this has been sitting in my drafts since 23 June 2023 and I FINALLY finished it today 11 April 2025— even though I already posted something today— I waited so long to finish this, imma just post it

Deep connections are often forged in the briefest encounters. Such is true for Jason and Y/n, whose connection is rooted in the magic of brief glances and polite greetings. But the frequent encounters experienced between Jason and Y/n had led them to be more than random strangers passing in the hall. One moment they were locker neighbours, who would share snacks, or pass class notes and the next they were friendly acquaintances, which quickly turned into a full blown friendship.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the moment the friendship blossomed as it feels as though Jason were always just part of your life and it’s certainly hard to imagine what it would be like now without him.

Jason is the sole reasoned you survived high school. Without him, your sanity would have long since vanished.

Now as adults you navigate the challenges of adulting. Your best friend, your roommate, the absolute bane of your existence.

You hold up a used mug that sits idly in your sink. Storming to Jason’s room you fling the door open with a loud bang not bothering to knock.

“I swear to god Jason, I told you last time! If you have dirty dishes just put it in the dishwasher!” You frantically wave the used dishware. “This is the last time I’m telling you!” Spinning to leave Jason quickly grabs your arm.

“Hey wait, you gave me an idea…” you merely blink at Jason’s ambiguous statement.

“An idea to manage your cleaning capabilities?”

“What? No! Drop the cleaning rant for a moment will ya?” Jason wrenches the mug from your hand and places it on the night stand. “I’m talking about going to that gala that Artemis will attend with her new ‘fiancé’ I need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend. You’ll be perfect!”

You’re head tilts in confusion like a sweet and confused puppy. “Erm… what? Pretend to be your girlfriend? Are you mad Jay? That sounds like a terrible idea.” Jason only waves off your jab.

“Common Y/n, I need help proving that I’m happier without her. It’s for a good cause, you’ll get to have free food and booze.” You only scowl with crossed arms as you contemplate the temptation at mellowing in the glitz and glam- your night feed taken care of. But pretending to be Jay’s girlfriend, just to make his ex-girlfriend jealous is crazy.

“I dunno Jay-Jay…. Do you really think flaunting a fake girlfriend is proving you’re over her? This elaborate rouse to prove to your ex that your over her is desperate and I’m embarrassed for you right now homie.” Jason only shakes his head. “Seriously Jay, you’ve been happy and flourishing without her, you don’t need to flaunt a fake girlfriend just to prove it.”

His serious face turns into an antagonist smirk. The kind of smile he makes when he seeks a deeper truth. “There’s something more to it isn’t it? Don’t lie sunshine, I can see it all over your face. What are you really afraid of?” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, you can never have a secret of your own around him, he’s far to observant. You feel far too embarrassed to admit the ugly truth, but it has to be said.

“What if I get all like… I dunno… get confused…” Mumbling the last part you shyly look up at Jason. His analysing stare quickly turns to laughter which is insultingly loud. His face twisting in gut-clenching humour.

“Yeah right! You’re my best friend Y/n! We wouldn’t- we couldn’t.” His laughter continues to boom but that voice in the back of your head is still announcing it’s concerns.

You would never admit it to Jason, but you did use to have a school girl crush on him. He’s handsome, friendly and funny, he makes you feel so special. It’s hard not to get caught up in that Todd/Wayne family charm. His charisma is intoxicating, and you won’t lie to yourself that a small part of you had wished that he’ll see you as more than a friend. At least, that’s what you use to believe. You’ve spent so many years by Jason’s side you truely have come to experience all of his ugly sides. He’s childish, inconsiderate, selfish, uses humour as a deflection, un-committed and above all else, you’ve personally witness the Jason Todd heartbreak train.

You have both been friends for so long that an romantic hints have long since died out.

And just like that, watching Jason laugh til he wheezed over the proespects of either of you catching feelings, as if it was impossible to like you as anything more - squashed all of your feelings away.

Concerns be damned, we’re friends, and that all we’ll ever be.

“Fine I’m in.”

You were starting to realise that your reservations were not unfounded.

This bastard really invited me to his family hosted gala for a dumbass reason and couldn’t even be bothered to pick me up and bring me here.

You grumble in the backseat of the limo that is pulling into the driveway up to the red carpet where the paparazzi stood all on one side with their cameras flashing.

Ah fuck, is it too late to change your mind?

Before you could even request for the limo driver to continue driving out of the estate. The driver jumps out of the car racing to your door to pull it open.

As soon as the car door is pulled open, the bright flashes flare sporadically towards your direction as you slowly crawl out of the limo as elegantly as one could.

Whilst you may not be enjoying the frenzied flashes of the photos being taken. You were rather enjoying how put together you looked that evening.

Courtesy of Jason he insured that you would well taking care of by a team of designers, make-up artist and hairstylist.

While, you were skilled enough to get yourself ready. You appreciate how the team of designers custom made you a couture dress that fitted your figure more flattering than any other piece of garments in your closet and the fabric colours matched perfectly to your palette.

Never mind if you were quite skilled with make up; being skilled enough to enhance your features after years of practice. But never had you thought to use the products that the make up artist used, never had you thought to apply the techniques that they had and never had you thought that you would be able to make your face look more perfect than they were able to

And whilst your hair always looked done well never had you been able to style it the way that they did.

So yes, the flashing cameras were a bother but it was also a warm welcome considering how much you are feeling yourself right now. Excited to see the pictures and look back on this night of when you felt the most beautiful you have ever been in your whole life.

“You clean up well.” Jason says appearing by your side suddenly and looping his arm through your own. “Let’s get this over with shall we?” He says not passing you a second glance. 

“Are you serious? Men at the gas station have given me much higher compliments for much less.” You scoff rolling your eyes as you take a step forward.

“What am I? Your boyfriend?“ 

“Yes. Tonight, you are or have you forgotten?” You whipped back making Jason hesitate in his next step.

”Oh right.” He falters, but just as quickly he stands straighter, his shoulders squared. “You look remarkable doll.” He praises, pulling you in just a little bit closer. So he can nuzzle your neck. The action alone has the red carpet lighting up like fireworks. Almost blinding you completely, but Jason pulls you along with him.

You’d be lying if you said his condescending tone didn’t piss you off, but there was a sense of wanting to hear him speak those words to you authentically. You really couldn’t help but silently revel in his praise even if it was all a facade.

As soon as you to pass the paparazzi, you enter into the large hall filled with copious buckets of exotic flowers, the dining tables well dressed, with overelaborate centrepieces dominating the space.

At the end of the hall was a band propped up on a makeshift stage performing a soulful ballad.

At first you were looking forward to the glitz and glam, but the longer you look out into the hall and take in the faces of the crowd suddenly you were feeling more out of place. Normally you couldn’t give rats, about what others thought of. But the more you observed the crowd raking in your figure the more self-conscious you were growing. “Jason—“ you called out turning to the person who expected to be by your side suddenly gone.

What the fuck?!

Your head whips quickly, looking desperately to see where Jason has disappeared to.

There’s no way he brought you here just to abandon you.

You’re just about ready to storm back out through the door when Roy Harper catches your hand.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful?” Roy says with that dangerous smile of his.

“Roy!” You greet enthusiastically, just about launching yourself into his arms. Caught off guard with your excitement, Roy stumbles back slightly, laughing at your unexpected antics.

“I’m surprised you’re here. Jason never comes to these things if he can help it. But you know how Oliver gets if I try and skip.” Roy shudders at the memory.

“Yeah well, Jason had this genius idea that we should play house in front of Artemis.” You answer as Roy slides a flute into your hands.

“Seriously?“Roy begins as you sip on your bubbly drink. “He’s the one that broke up with her so what does he even want?” You choke ungracefully on your drink.

What do you mean he broke up with her? Wasn’t it the other way around?”

“Aren’t you meant to be Jason’s number 2 friend or something? I thought you knew.”

“You mean number 1– because you’re number two.” You defend your title but Roy only shrugs his shoulders dismissively.

“Artemis accused Jason of having feelings for you and gave an ultimatum it was her are you.” You stare at Roy with wide eyes. “But just like always he chose you.“ He says lightly, as if every single word that he’s spoken so far hasn’t just about punched you in the gut.

“What the hell do you mean just like always?”

“Come on kid— how much longer are you two going to keep dancing around the facts? You know that Jason relationships haven’t worked out because of his feelings for you.” Your heart pounds in your chest. Your breath getting caught in your throat.

“Why are you saying all this?”

“Because it’s obvious your meant to be together and I’m sick of the slow burn! Just get together already!” Roy cheers making you frantically shush him as heads begin to turn to your direction.

“You just want my number one spot.” You huff, more so reassuring yourself that Roy’s antics are just that.

“Don’t deflect— I’m being serious… your number one spot is just a coincidental benefit for me when you two finally just admit it.”

You managed to avoid Jason for most of the evening—successfully, in fact—until you slipped out the side doors into the garden for a moment to breathe. That’s when you ran into Artemis.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here. I’ll just go—”

“Wait a second. Come back,” she said, gesturing for you to sit beside her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You approached slowly, feeling awkward about sitting next to Jason’s ex-girlfriend—the one he supposedly broke up with because of you.

“I have to admit,” Artemis began, her voice light, “a small part of me is glad to see you two together tonight. It just… validates how I felt back then. After months of agonizing, wondering if I made a mistake. Seeing you now—I can tell you really do like each other. Romantically.” You nearly cringed at the word, instinctively wanting to correct her. But something told you to stay quiet.

So you listened. “But it’s weird,” she continued. “Because in another way—I don’t care. Without you, maybe Jason and I wouldn’t have broken up. And if that didn’t happen, then I never would’ve found Wally.” Her gaze drifted dreamily toward the ballroom, where Wally stood among a small crowd, clearly saying something ridiculous. You both smiled. “Do me a favor?”

“Um… sure…” you said, hesitantly. Something in her tone made you nervous.

“Tell me the truth,” Artemis asked, locking eyes with you. “Do you love him?” Her gaze was unwavering, and in her eyes you saw something raw, searching—not judgment, just an honest plea. You almost gave her your usual answers.

Don’t be crazy, of course not.

He’s my best friend.

He’s basically my brother.

But you knew if you lied, if you denied it again, you’d be doing her—and yourself—a disservice.

So for the first time ever, you told the truth.

“I do,” you said softly.

“Romantically?” she asked, gently pushing.

“Romantically,” you confirmed, and it came with a surprising sense of relief.

“When?” she asked, now visibly intrigued.

“I’m not sure if there was one exact moment,” you said, the memories tugging a smile to your lips. “But I remember the first time I saw him… I thought he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. And when we spoke, I just wanted to be someone important to him. Friend or… maybe something more.”

You glanced toward Artemis. She was listening intently.

“The first time I saw him with someone else, I was crushed. And every girl after that just made it easier to harden up. So I waited. I told myself to move on, to just find someone else. I thought I would...”

Artemis tilted her head. “So that’s when you finally admitted it to yourself?”

You shook your head. “No. I admitted it to myself a long time ago. But when you showed up… that’s when I accepted he’d never feel the same. But I was okay with that—as long as he had someone like you.”

Artemis placed a gentle hand over yours.

“So that’s why you begged me to take him back…”

Before you could answer, Wally appeared in the doorway.

“Sweets! Ready to go?” he called, holding up her purse.

“Thanks for the chat, Y/n,” Artemis said, standing with a kind smile. “I truly wish you and Jason happiness.”

You watched her rush off to Wally, your moment of catharsis now fading, replaced by the crushing weight of reality.

You were still living a lie.

How much longer could you keep pretending? Watching Jason live a life that didn’t include you—not really. Pretending you were content as just his friend, when in truth, you were using that friendship as a substitute for the love you could never express.

You weren’t his friend. You were a woman suppressing her feelings, convincing herself that his proximity was enough. But it wasn’t.

And worse—you were dragging Jason through it with you. Ruining his chances with other women who sensed your infatuation. It was one thing to lie to yourself…

But it was another to drag him along too.

“Wow—you almost convinced me,” came a voice behind you. “Good speech, you really out performed yourself.”

Jason.

You looked up at him, heart thudding painfully. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

“Jay—that wasn’t a lie,” you said quietly.

“What are you talking about, doll? Of course I know you love me, just… not like—”

“But it is like that,” you interrupted.

Jason blinked. You could already see the mental gymnastics beginning.

“Yeah-yeah, but what you really mean—”

“Is that I love you.”

You said it with finality. You wouldn’t let him reframe your words this time.

Jason froze. “You… don’t want me.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t—”

“I do.”

“Can—can you just stop for a second?!” he snapped, raking a hand through his hair. “You just think you do, but you don’t. Not really.”

“I do.”

“God—why are you being like this?” he said, voice cracking with something close to panic. “You don’t understand—I ruin things. I always do. Even if you love me now, later you won’t. I’ll ruin it, like I always do.

“I can’t make you want to be with me, Jason,” you said, voice steady but soft. “But I’m telling you I do love you. I’m telling you I want to be with you. I’m telling you I don’t want to be anything less. And I’m asking you—be mine.”

Jason was silent. For a moment, you feared he would walk away.

Then, softly, like an exhale. “I’m already yours, doll. Always have been.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “So what does this mean, exactly?”

Jason scoffed, as if the question was ridiculous. “It means I want you to start telling people I’m your boyfriend. Your partner. It means I want to come home to you—always. Sleep in our bed. Wake up beside you. And I don’t want to look at anyone else the way I look at you.”

He stepped closer, now only inches away.

And then—finally—he did what you’d both wanted for so long.

He kissed you.

Epilogue (if you can call it that)

Y/n: So I’m guessing you weren’t hung up on Artemis?

Jason: I really couldn’t give a shit

Y/n: …. So then why did you ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend to make her jealous?

Jason: … I wanted to see what it was like having you as a girlfriend

Y/n: …

Jason: … what?

Y/n: … you’re doing too much— seriously— you should’ve just told me you wanted me— could’ve saved all these years of mutual pining

[daycourtofficial]

Are we getting a Caramel Cookie Pumpkin Spice latte???? 👀👀👀👀

I am actually so glad you asked for this because I had started something in my drafts for this!!

Order your own coffee for gingerfucker week from the menu here

Caramel and pumpkin spice latte with a cookie = gingerfucker + Eris + fluff with extra banter

Eris’s body relaxed into the soft mattress, the sheets seemingly molding a perfect dip for him. Sleep found Eris much easier these days, the familiar comfort of his mate’s body made his body relax so easily it almost terrified him.

Was this how everyone else slept? In his younger years, it seemed he spent hours each night staring at his ceiling, hoping for its collapse to grant him some rest. Sleeping had always felt too vulnerable for him, his body never quite stilling long enough.

Hia eyes closed so easily, an arm draped around his waist. His breathing slowed.

“Er?” A soft shaking woke him up, his eyes not opening but his eyebrows moving up. His name was met with something between a groan and an acknowledgement, something he knew she wouldn’t be bothered by. With the grogginess of his sleep laddened mind, he hoped the question wouldn’t require too much thinking to stir him from this half-sleep existence.

“You know I wouldn’t actually get married again, right?”

His mind flashed to an earlier conversation, one about how his mate’s next husband will surely be both well endowed and capable of making the chocolate cake she loves so dearly from her home in the Night Court. It was a silly statement, one he balked at as he told her no matter how well-endowed he may be, she’d always think of him when with her next husband.

“If this is a ploy to get me to allow you to marry Lucien….”

“No.” Her voice left a pause, one Eris tried desperately to stay awake to hear the rest of. “But you’re it for me. I don’t care how blessed any male has been, he’s not you.”

“Thank you, my dear. It was eating me to alive to consider you would forego widow status for a large cock.”

“I’m serious, Er.”

“As am I. If you remarry, I’d never allow him to be buried in our plot.”

This conversation was a bit ridiculous for the hour,

“We have a burial plot?”

“Of course. You’ll lay next to me for eternity and there is no room for a second husband.”

“Can we hold hands?”

Eris reached back, his hand searching to entangle in hers, “not now! I mean when we’re dead.”

“We can do whatever you wish. You may have to decide soon. I may die from lack of sleep.”

The room was silent, his mate’s breath in his ear steadying him. Despite her objections, she held a tight grip on his hand.

“If I died first, I would kill you if you married someone else.”

“Of course, mhm.”

“There’d be no room in the house for them. The closet’s full and there would be nowhere for them to stay.”

The house was large enough for several families to occupy, a fact Eris kept to himself. The sounds from Eris were slurred with sleep, but the arms around him tightened.

“Er?”

“Mhmmm?”

“I love you.” She left a soft kiss to his back before burying her dace between his shoulder blades.

“I love you too, my first and only wife.”

[queerholmcs]

Happy first day of June! I am thrilled beyond belief to report that my s4 fic has made it to the beta reader stage, so it feels at last safe to make a formal announcement of what you can all expect from me sometime later this summer! (No hard promises on dates yet, though; I am also supposed to be finishing my chemistry PhD.)

That's Not What Happened At All

✈️⏳🧛‍♂️🪼🪑🪦🌊🦠⚰️🌠🪞🍂♟️🗡️📜✨✒️ Or, a BBC Sherlock s4 fic written by a guy who's had eight years to get far too weird about both John H. Watson (lying narrator extraordinaire) and Mycroft Holmes as portrayed by Mark Gatiss the writer, and who did take a quick intermission during the drafting process to devour the collected works of Oscar Fingal O'Fflahertie Wills Wilde.

There will be devastating failures to communicate. There will be mirrors. There will be looking-into-the-camera statements about Art and Truth. There will be blood, and there will be catharsis. And all of this will occur over the course of approximately 115k words' worth of me inflicting my love for s4 on the world, because a certain someone never believed me for a moment when I said (a) that this would be a quick and reasonable 30k, and (b) that I'm not capable of writing more that much before I lose interest in a project (everyone say thank you to @victorianpining 🫶).

And, in the meantime, here's a playlist I made to prove how little real estate the idea of BBC Dorian occupies in my mind. Enjoy!

[generalsmemories]

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

[zmbiebrain]

Wayne and Kathy Harris

Wayne Nelson Harris was born in 1948, making him 77 years old in 2025, 51 years old in 1999, and 33 years old in 1981, when Eric was born.

He worked in the U.S Air Force in aircraft maintenance. Eric wrote about his family moving often, because of his father's job. They lived in Kansas, New York, Michigan, and Ohio before settling in Colorado in July of 1993. After he retired, he worked in civil aviation as a transport pilot for private companies.

Katherine "Kathy" Ann Harris (neé Poole) was born in 1950, making her 75 years old in 2025, 49 years old in 1999, and 31 years old in 1981, when Eric was born.

She worked as a homemaker for much of Eric's childhood, though in later years she worked in a food and catering service. She was described as social, organized and involved in her son's schooling.

Eric's older brother, Kevin Harris, was born in 1978, making him 47 years old in 2025, 21 years old in 1999, and 3 years old in 1981, when Eric was born.

Unlike Dylan's older brother, Byron Klebold, Kevin has never made public statements regarding Columbine. There are no known accounts or interviews from people who knew him personally.

The Harris family seems to have been structured and partly strict, likely influenced by Wayne's background. Wayne seemed to have been involved in the upbringing of his sons, spending time with them often. His mother was seen as relaxed, more emotional than his father.

In elementary school, his parents would show for parent-teacher conferences, and Kathy would help the class with events.

Kris Otten, a childhood friend of Eric's, would sleep over at their house, saying, "It was a real comforting house. Everything was neat and organized."

In April of 1993, while living in Plattsburgh, Eric was drafted for a little league team, and his coach thought he was talented. Wayne and Kathy would attend both games and practices.

Wayne was aware of Eric's troubled behaviour, having kept notes on him, most likely regarding his rebellious behaviour. Eric went to Ken Caryl Middle School, where he would later meet Dylan Klebold in the 7th grade.

During his early adolescence, he was prescribed a mood stabilizer called Luvox. He may have taken this for better management of thoughts and emotions. Before he was prescribed Luvox, he took Zoloft for a brief time period. Eric's medical records indicate, "possible depression, minimal depressive symptoms."

Luvox and Zoloft (Fluvoxamine and Sertraline) are both SSRI, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. After his first prescription in April 1998, it was upped just a month later, and upped again a month after that, in early July of the same year.

He stated in one of the tapes, "When I don't take my medication, it makes me angry. It's working."

Eric's entry on 4/21/98:

"My doctor wants to put me on medication to stop thinking about so many things and to stop getting angry. well, I think that anyone who doesn't think like me is just bullshitting themselves. try it sometime if you think you are worthy, which you probably will you little shits, drop all your beliefs and views and ideas that have been burned into your head and try to think about why your here. but I bet most of you fuckers cant even think that deep, so that is why you must die. how dare you think that I and you are part of the same species when we are sooooooo different. you aren't human you are a Robot. you don't take advantage of your capabilities given to you at birth. you just drop them and hop onto the boat and head down the stream of life with all the other fuckers of your type. well god damnit I wont be a part of it! I have thought to much, realized to much, found out to much, and I am to self aware to just stop what am thinking and go back to society because what I do and think isn't "right" or "morally accepted" NO, NO, NO, God Fucking damnit NO! I will sooner die than betray my own thoughts. but before I leave this worthless place, I will kill who ever I deem unfit."

Kathy Harris made a 9-1-1 call on the day of the shooting, the call is sealed and has never been released. Wayne and Kathy were sued by multiple families of the victims, but settled in 2003 under confidential terms.

[hollow-lime-green]

I was reading the last chapter of domains (again) and I think there’s a really interesting juxtaposition between Suguru realizing in the spur of the moment that he would let Satoru do anything to him and being completely genuine about it, vs Satoru (who obsesses over their relationship constantly) saying that Suguru could do anything to him, but stuttering while saying because it isn’t exactly 100% true (I think I remember you saying something about it but I can’t find the post anywhere)

yes! their certainties about boundaries/consent and the drivers behind that claimed blanket consent (emotional vs physical) foil each other!

suguru - genuinely certain, justified physically

satoru - falsely certain, justified emotionally

these always get so long since i yap, and i love talking about stuff like this. i want the writing to speak for itself and convey all this stuff in an organic way, but it is nice to open up the hood and talk about what i am intentionally trying to get at too. so here we go, under the cut:

Satoru

satoru's piece of this is from the girlification section of @detta-pica's ask on string theory.

satoru would let suguru do anything to him - definitely true, but also very ill-conceived, and on very shaky ground. the way they both interpret satoru's statement also differs:

satoru [stuttering, lie, psyching himself up]: yeah i'd let suguru do anything to me. yeah i'm totally game, i can take it. i could totally set a boundary, but like, i don't need to. (and oh my god what if that makes suguru sad what if it makes him leave what if-) i'm good. i'm so good. i'm so fucking good bro. satoru: [is not good] suguru [immediate, truth, divine revelation]: oh, satoru would let me do anything to him. he's not capable of setting boundaries. this is bad. (but shit it's kind of hot and turns me on but wait shit fuck am i a bad person am i literally unredeemable am i the actual incarnation of evil-

satoru's driving motivation is almost entirely emotional (he wants to fulfill this role), whereas his complications are all physical. he does like sex at a baseline, though. but that's not why he's doing this.

Suguru

from ch 6 domains -

suguru would let satoru do anything to him - also true, also ill-conceived, but it's on solid ground, in a way.

suguru has a different understanding of boundaries and consent because he's already had his broken. he knows where his lines are, and he is 100% certain that satoru is not going to cross them. i think i may have mentioned this before, but the original way the sex scene in 2sorcs ch 14 played out in rough drafts was essentially:

satoru: "please fuck me" suguru: "uhhh what? i thought you were going to want to fuck me, since you're still pretending you're straight and all. and i was gonna be cool with that. but okay. shit, okay. i guess we're doing this now."

their interpretation of suguru's consent also differs because they're both insane.

satoru [insane]: he can't actually consent to this. oh my god i'm abusing him. i'm taking advantage of him because i'm a gojo (he doesn't care) and a special grade (he is too) and he's straight and doesn't realize i'm actually gay and into him (girl...) suguru [insane plus plus plus]: yeah, i mean, it's whatever. he's a cute, inexperienced little stick man with extreme anxiety. i'm fine letting him experiment. he's way too timid to actually push anything. and even if he did, i don't care, actually, if people do things to my body that i don't like. it's just a body, who cares. it won't hurt me. it's just a physical thing. no connection whatsoever to my mental health. (also no connection to my cursed technique) well, yes, satoru's physical comfort is extremely, viscerally important to me and i am hypervigilant about it. but that's different.

suguru's driving motivation is physical. he is willing to do this because he is so dissociated from his own body that he doesn't clock harm to it or feel ownership over it. which is bad, obviously, but he does have a genuine internal certainty about it. emotionally, it's complicated because he hasn't unpacked why he implicitly supertrusts satoru (and it takes him about 150k words to get there).

we will get more into this in fellas, actually. because in order to unpack suguru's relationship with his body, we kind of need to see the outside perspective (satoru's), since suguru is dead set on Not Thinking About It. and, in his spiral, we will be talking a lot about his CT and the importance of The Body (not the TLT one) in jujutsu.

also, one more thing - it makes me so happy when you/any commenters mention you are rereading FIYM. i reread comfort fics all the time and yet i'm still like "t-they liked it enough to reread?? 🥺🥺🥺"

💜

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

ByZVIKA KLEIN

Israel deliberately labeled Thursday night’s security-cabinet meeting as a discussion on hostage negotiations in order to lull Tehran and green-light the pre-dawn strike inside Iran, a senior Israeli source told The Jerusalem Post on Friday.

According to the official, ministers were briefed in advance that the agenda would focus on the stalled talks for the release of Israelis held in Gaza. “The aim was to put Iran to sleep,” the source said.

Once inside the secure forum, the cabinet unanimously approved the military operation and every minister signed a strict non-disclosure agreement, known as a Shomer Sod (“guardian of the secret”) document.

False signals from PMO

In the days leading up to the strike, the Prime Minister’s Office orchestrated a series of false signals:

Vacation ruse: Netanyahu’s aides briefed reporters that he was planning a family holiday in the Galilee and would be attending his son Avner’s wedding next Tuesday, reinforcing the impression that no major military action was imminent.

Washington decoy: The PMO issued a statement claiming that Dermer and Barnea would fly to Washington on Friday to meet US envoy Steve Witkoff for a “sixth round��� of Iran-US nuclear talks in Oman— talks that do not exist. Both men remained in Israel.

Leak strategy: For the first time, Netanyahu’s office declined to deny fabricated quotes describing a dispute between the prime minister and former US president Donald Trump over a potential strike, creating the sense of a diplomatic rift and further lowering Iranian alert levels.

The deception campaign unfolded against a backdrop of domestic political drama over the IDF draft law and speculation that the coalition might collapse. “It was the perfect smoke screen,” the source said, adding that US officials were fully briefed despite the public theatrics.

Channel 12 journalist Amit Segal noted on X that Trump had publicly given Iran “60 days to reach a deal” on April 12. “Today is day 61,” he wrote, hinting that the deadline factored into Jerusalem’s timing.

Israeli defense officials believe the element of surprise maximized the operation’s impact and may buy Israel critical time as Iran edges closer to nuclear breakout capability.

[veliseraptor]

Hello Lise! First thing, I worship your writing and I thank whoever needs to be thanked for sharing a couple of the fandoms you write for. Latest obsession for me is unfortunately vegaspete and I love the way you portray them, they’re so painfully real. Like seriously, after I read walking shadows I was never the same. Just a thought, would you change anything in their dynamic? Is there anything you’d like it had gone differently than in canon? Sending you lot of love!

thank you very much! I have no idea if you're even still around, anon, (the more true because this has been sitting in my drafts for longer than I want to find out) but this very kind message still is and I'm still grateful for it.

ah yes! vegaspete. what a mess (affectionate). I feel like the main thing I want from them in canon is more because I have a hunger that cannot be sated and, again, seem to have come away from a canon where a secondary pairing is the main pairing in my heart. but I don't hold that against the show, or anything. I am capable of recognizing when it isn't the plot's fault that I fixate on (more) minor characters.

I think I also...there is something to the critique (as I've read it) that their ending potentially implies an erasure of the teeth of their dynamic - that vegas's "you are no longer my pet" statement is a surrender of the darker/kinkier aspects of their relationship, a domestication that relegates that to a dysfunctional past and overwrites it with a more "palatable" (i.e. vanilla) future.

of course, as of where canon ends there's no definitive statement that this is the case, and certainly there's no need for that statement to not be able to coexist with vegas and pete maintaining a kinky dynamic in their relationship. (the plenitude of fic exploring what this would look like is one of the joys of the vegaspete fandom.) I certainly don't think there's a reason to assume that this is what the show is doing, necessarily, just that it's a potential read and one that makes me a little uneasy. I have been thinking about this a lot with respect to the latter part of the heart killers and my reservations about the shift in kant and bison's dynamic there, which has some of the same arc of feeling as though it is shifting away from kink as the relationship becomes more "functional." it makes me look back with more...skepticism, I guess, than I initially had, at the way canon treats that particular aspect of vegaspete as it is established earlier.

the other thing I think of - and I think this is an issue with the series as a whole - is that I wish there was a clearer sense of timeline/duration for the safehouse era. I don't get a clear sense of how long pete is there and I would like to know that, just to get a better feeling for the timing of the development that occurs there.

but otherwise...I mean, I won't say that they're perfect, or the writing is perfect, or anything like that. but the reason that they have such a chokehold on me going on, what, three years later? is that what we were given on screen really, really worked for me in a way I don't expect from canon. I'm very used to, in a lot of cases, taking bits and pieces from canon and spinning them into the dynamic I want, or elaborating on what's in canon into the specific kind of fucked up I'm after. the gift of vegaspete, for me, was the fact that I watched (say) the torture scene and went I could've written this for myself. and that's beautiful.

[usfedgovernmentcontractsgrants]

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[fuselsstuff]

When Buckley met Sal Chapter 4!

Hey guys! Remember me? Its been a while. I did struggle with this chapter a lot, and then....i wrote it down on a random saturday. Well....thats the writers life i guess:) huge Thank yous to @thecarrott and @loulou-land for rereding my 294655 drafts i wasn't happy with and telling me to not hate it lol, love you guys❤️

You get to know these two beautys a bit more in this chapter, stay tuned to meet the whole 122:) but for now....

WBmS Excerp:

The WeeWoo wasn't as busy as usual, Sal and Jules found a place at the back of the bar. A booth with puffy red leather benches. Sal put down the drinks that he got for them, an IPA for Jules and a lager for himself.

He took a seat on the opposite side. Jules took the IPA but kept staring at him suspiciously.

"You can drink it, I didn't spit in it this time." He grumbled while taking a sip from his own beer.

"What do you mean, this time?" Jules echoed, but took a tiny swig anyway.

Sal chuckled, "I am glad you trust me that much."

"Nothing to do with trust," she smiled mischievously. "But you, my friend, would not survive a day without me, and we both know that."

He didn't answer that, just hummed and nursed his beer instead.

"It's been a while since we went out for drinks." She began after a while, letting it sound more like a question than a statement.

"Hmm, we are both busy people."

"I am, yeah, you on the other side…"

Sal huffed at that, because she wasn't wrong, but he still wanted to sound at least a bit offended.

One of the things he liked most about Jules: she never hold back with her words, always telling you exactly what she means, or what you need to hear.

Its part of the reasons he made her his second in command. Not just because she is one of the best most capable firefighters he ever met, but because she made the crew listen, she made them think. Jules had a gift of getting to the point quickly, no sweet talking.

“So, I saw Gina the other day; she and Mike are moving in together."

And there it was.

Starting a tag list, want to be added or removed? Let me know!

@cliophilyra @rdng1230 @thecarrott

[allurenamin-moved]

⏤ 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐞 ; 𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

tags ⇢ roronoa zoro x reader, nsfw content, not much just pure self indulgence, sub!zoro who refuses to admit it, bondage, dirty talk, bit of a good boy kink

word count ⇢ 0.5k

author’s note ⇢ here's a little something that's been sitting in my drafts that i'm now posting because...why not, lol. i'm honestly not even sure if i like this but i thought i might as well take it slow in terms of getting back in the swing of writing. also... first one piece fic! let me know what you all think!

“Say it then. Tell me what you’ll do to me. At least I’ll have proof that you can use your words like a good boy.” 

Zoro’s ongoing proclivity towards denial was thoroughly challenged this time. 

Of course he’d anticipated the divine defeat. Perhaps the issue lay in how long he’d actually thought it would take for you to crack. The deceitful solace of “eventually” had run its course; nothing in this world had made him feel more naive. 

But he refused to show you that, unbeknownst to him how privy you were to the ego that only rivaled the size of his mouth watering thighs, reverently spread apart for your whims. 

Here and there were brutal attacks on his self-esteem that weren’t foreign. The confinement of your handcuffs was always a handy guard against his deliciously rough response to your teasing; the coos, the giggles, and the friction of your clothed cunt against his desperate, throbbing cock. Naturally, you were much, much braver. Naturally, he was much, much smaller. 

It was just time for him to admit it. And you’ll do everything in your power to make him. 

“You’re bluffing. Acting so bold as if you don’t know how this is gonna end.” He spits, almost as if his arms weren’t above his head, restricting the methods in which he would’ve ended this.

Challenging the knowledge of your capabilities was a big mistake, he’d learned from the discernable lift of the corner of your mouth. The real Zoro had made way for chills to run down his spine as he’d failed to keep his rocky exterior intact. Boy, did he fucking hate the real Zoro. 

“I don’t even know what’s gotten you so mad, baby. I’ve barely touched you.” You purr, successfully prefacing your first round of silky touches; starting at his wrists, your manicured fingertips make trails down his toned arms as a modus of appreciation. 

Zoro despised the discernibility of his shudders, enhanced by the contact of your acrylics now on the soft, sensitive skin of his biceps. For what it was worth, paranoia had been dismissed from his vocabulary, having always known that your overt affinity for pointy nails is not to be taken lightly. Further validation of this statement was in the form of your fingers now trailing towards his chest. 

“You’re shy now, aren’t you?” A brave murmur slyly responds to your hands, cautious in their act of toying with his taut pecs. His famous smirk makes its way through, regardless. Regardless of his foiling conscience. Regardless of his failure to deter you. Regardless of the fact that it was going to disappear pretty soon. 

“Who said I was shy?” You muse, hands beginning to massage the area. The twitch of his cock was impossible to miss. But he isn’t giving up just yet. 

Inwardly grimacing at his shortage of witty comebacks, he’d decided that the best idea is seeing where the sly night could take him… you’ve made it clear that it won’t be an easy stroll. 

[aibidil]

Recent news re Lawyers, Judges, and AI

I haven't seen anyone on Tumblr talking about the Arizona court case where a judge allowed a family to submit AI video of a dead man to allow "him" (i.e. the AI) to testify in court, addressing his killer.

I feel like I'm hallucinating.

The AI video shows the dead man saying "he'd" (i.e. THE FUCKING AI) like to submit his own victim impact statement.

How did the judge allow this?! What was he thinking? The judge said he “loved that AI” in his closing remarks. "Bowman, the law professor, said Wales’s case avoided controversy probably because the video was introduced during a sentencing and wasn’t being used to determine the defendant’s guilt. ... Gary Marchant, a professor of law, ethics and emerging technologies at Arizona State, said attorneys might have objected to showing a video that fabricates a victim’s voice to a jury. 'In most cases, it’s going to be possibly misleading and prejudicial, probably,' Marchant said. 'So I think it’s dangerous to start using non-real evidence that is created by an AI.'"

No fucking shit!!!! Like, no offense, but I don't think we need law prof experts to figure this one out! What the actual fuck!!!!!!!!

404 Media's article about this

This is coming at the same time as judges are trying to crack down on lawyers using AI to write their legal briefs—what keeps happening is that AI hallucinates court cases to cite, the lawyers don't bother to check these and they submit these AI hallucinated citations in their briefs to the courts.

“Mr. Ramirez explained that he had used AI before to assist with legal matters, such as drafting agreements, and did not know that AI was capable of generating fictitious cases and citations,” Judge Dinsmore wrote in court documents filed last week. “These ‘hallucination cites,’ Mr. Ramirez asserted, included text excerpts which appeared to be credible. As such, Mr. Ramirez did not conduct any further research, nor did he make any attempt to verify the existence of the generated citations. Mr. Ramirez reported that he has since taken continuing legal education courses on the topic of AI use and continues to use AI products which he has been assured will not produce ‘hallucination cites.’”

I'd like to note that my 14yo is smarter than this lawyer about not getting caught using AI.

I honestly don't even know where to start, other than yeeting myself off the planet.

[mariacallous]

NATO will call for all 32 members to put in place civil defense plans in case of an Article 5-level attack at the alliance’s Washington summit, officials familiar with the plan told Foreign Policy.

“We’re going to push the idea in Washington that all allies should commit to having some kind of national planning process that brings together both the military planning and civilian planning for Article 5,” said one NATO official, speaking anonymously based on conditions set by the alliance.

The move is part of an ongoing effort within NATO to prepare for a possible future Russian attack on the alliance that members believe is likely to include long-range missile strikes, disinformation, disruption of ports, and assaults on the energy grid—similar to what the Ukrainians have faced during the country’s full-scale invasion.

The expectation is that countries may have to plan to fend for themselves while they wait for NATO’s political leaders to decide whether to invoke self-defense.

“You have to be capable of being defendable while waiting for Article 5 to come into play,” said Dalia Bankauskaite, a nonresident senior fellow at the Center for European Policy Analysis, a Washington-based think tank. “You have to be self-sufficient for self-defense within your territory with whatever resources you have.”

The notion that Europe has to prepare for war after NATO’s 75 mostly peaceful years of post-World War II life is slowly becoming the status quo in many allied governments as they grapple with a resurgent Russia that is picking itself up off the canvas from the initial beating it took in Ukraine far faster than anyone expected. But the alarm bells are coming as a shock to the global public square.

Swedish defense chief Gen. Micael Byden’s January statement that all Swedes should mentally prepare for conflict went viral on TikTok. Frightened children and teens flooded the telephone lines of Sweden’s largest child protection group. Then-British Army chief Gen. Patrick Sanders called on Britons to get ready for a level of mobilization not seen since World War II, forcing the press flacks at No. 10 Downing St. to clarify that they weren’t reinstating the draft. (Sanders also got a tongue-lashing from his boss.) German officials have even suggested that Russia could conduct missile attacks against NATO countries.

The reaction within NATO has been to call on member states to further link military planning and civil planning in the event of a regional war. “Deterrence is not only something for the minister of defense and the armed forces—it is a whole-of-society event,” said Royal Netherlands Navy Adm. Rob Bauer, the chair of NATO’s Military Committee. “Financial institutions have a role to play. Industry has a role to play. We need the right infrastructure in our nations to transport military equipment over roads, over bridges. A bridge has to be able to carry a tank.”

NATO countries need sufficient harbor facilities, airports, rail gauges, and energy infrastructure that are not dependent on a small handful of nations. The idea is for each country to have a plan for ensuring continuity of civil government, food, and fuel in the event of a crisis, NATO officials said.

NATO will also have to think about how to deconflict roads and transportation networks in a war if masses of people move west while tanks and logistics trains move east. Countries such as Estonia, Finland, Lithuania, Latvia, and Poland are coming up with plans to evacuate civilians at least 50 miles from the front lines of a conflict with Russia, Bankauskaite said.

The problem of preparedness for an alliance covering more than 10 million square miles and 970 million people—about 4 million of them in uniform—is sprawling. It doesn’t lend itself well to neatly drawn government organizational charts and jurisdictional boundaries; it’s somewhere between defense and homeland security.

But the idea that NATO members need to build up antibodies to resist an attack dates back to the alliance’s founding. Eight years ago, NATO leaders built on that foundation with seven planning requirements for resilience. And they added to that in the 2023 Vilnius summit communique, calling resilience a basis for credible deterrence and defense.

Still, there’s no 2 percent standard for resilience. Just as NATO nations have the ability to set their own defense budgets and structure their own militaries to fit their plans, officials said, member states are likely to be able to set their own requirements for civil defense. The standards will vary from country to country.

“It doesn’t have to be the same, because each country is different,” said one Nordic official involved in the planning. “But everybody should have a minimum level of resilience.”

NATO also has a pool of civil experts to build capacity for resilience in countries that are less prepared. The European Union also has pre-positioned medical stockpiles and supplies of equipment to protect civilians from chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear threats.

Some think that the urgency is still being driven by the United States putting more and more troops in Europe to reinforce NATO soil against Russia. “Since the beginning of this war, the U.S. presence in Europe has steadily gained,” said retired U.S. Air Force Gen. Philip Breedlove, a former NATO supreme allied commander and head of U.S. European Command. “What we see today are further refinements and continued efforts toward getting more ready.”

Historically, the Nordic countries have set the pace for NATO, and many of the new alliance members in the region are already out in front. Newly minted NATO member Sweden has a so-called “total defense” plan that calls on every citizen between the ages of 16 and 70 to help the nation prepare for war, whether through military conscription or assisting with emergency services. Stockholm is set to update the plans this year. They’ve been learning from the Ukrainians: Swedish Civil Defense Minister Carl-Oskar Bohlin has made multiple visits to Kyiv since the Russian invasion began.

Sweden, which already regularly issues a pamphlet to all 10 million citizens with checklists for how to prepare for a terrorist attack or war, plans to update it later this year. “It will reflect the more dire security situation that we are finding ourselves in now,” Bohlin said. There is even consideration about whether to invoke civil conscription for the rescue services.

Finland, which has universal male conscription, can mobilize 300,000 reservists to fight with a snap of its fingers. The Finns also have a rule of thumb to stockpile enough food, water, and medicine to last 72 hours. Helsinki has increased stockpiling requirements for petroleum by businesses and government entities to a five-month supply. Even the mindset in Finland is changing toward a more wartime economy, the Nordic official said.

Countries have also begun dusting off and tallying up their Cold War-era bomb shelters. Sweden has 65,000 shelters, enough for about 7 million people. Finland has 50,500 shelters, with space for about 90 percent of Finns. Norway has some 20,000, enough for about half the population.

The Baltic countries took up “total defense” plans after the Kremlin’s annexation of Crimea and invasion of the Donbas in 2014. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are building a 600-mile line of defense installations along their borders with Russia. Latvia has reinstated a military draft.

These are necessary measures, Baltic officials said, with Russia already conducting low-level hybrid warfare activities on NATO soil, from vandalism to beatings of dissidents in Eastern Europe.

“We know for a fact that there is an active kinetic activity happening in the Baltic states, in the wider region, today,” Gabrielius Landsbergis, Lithuania’s top diplomat, said at an event in March at the National Press Club in Washington. “Russia is able to have people for hire that would in some cases vandalize buildings, tear down the flags—such things that have happened in Lithuania—and attack people.”

The call for new civil defense requirements is a window into how European societies are changing—and how they will need to change—in light of Russia’s growing military threat. Russia has fired missiles at Ukraine’s electrical grid, kidnapped Ukrainian children, and attacked the transit corridors for much of the world’s grain. NATO is preparing for Russian President Vladimir Putin to use the same playbook in an Article 5-level assault on the allies.

“It’s not only about military effects,” said Bauer, the NATO military chief. “It’s also about hybrid warfare. It’s about energy. It’s about migration. It’s about food. All these things have been used by Putin [and] will be used again by Putin.”

A new reality of preparing for war could have expansive ripple effects on civilian life after seven decades of mostly peaceful times on the continent. But NATO nations will need a plan to deal with Russia’s efforts to target civilians—through attacks on critical infrastructure and buildings, neighborhoods, and schools as well as through disinformation that has been on display in two years of full-scale war in Ukraine.

NATO militaries have become adept at dealing with small numbers of wounded soldiers in the past two decades, as most of the alliance fought in Afghanistan. But in an Article 5-level war, there might be mass military and civilian casualties all at once, and hospitals may need to run around the clock.

The logic goes that the quicker NATO countries can prepare, the readier they will be for massive numbers of troops to flow in. Especially in NATO’s front-line states, where nations are on heightened alert about Russia’s hybrid threats, there’s a desire to start pushing back.

“They are pushing the line,” said Landsbergis, the Lithuanian foreign minister. “They are testing us. And I’m sure that somewhere down the line, we will have to start pushing back

[techav]

Revisiting Wrap030 Disk Access

I have more ideas for projects than time or budget to work on them. Already this year I've gone completely through the design process for two new large homebrew projects that are currently too large for my project budget, plus a few small ones I never got around to ordering. So rather than spend more than I should taking on a new project, I decided to revisit an existing one.

It's been over a year since I last worked on the original Wrap030 project — my old stack-of-boards MC68030 system. Its current configuration includes the main board with CPU, ROM, RAM, UART, & glue logic; a hand-wired breakout board to add a second UART; a custom video output board; and a mezzanine board with FPU and provision for an IDE disk that is not yet working. It has been functional in this configuration since last February.

My goal for this project from the beginning was to build something capable of running a proper operating system, like Unix System V or Linux. To do that though, I'm going to need to get disk access working.

I had started on disk access, but didn't quite have it functional when I turned my focus to integrating all of boards into the single Wrap030-ATX motherboard. I had added IDE cycles to the CPLD on the mezzanine board, and had added a few rough drafts of disk functions to my ROM. I set the project aside when I realized my function for checking dish presence was reporting a disk was present when there wasn't one.

I have worked with IDE before — my original 68000 project had an IDE port on it. I had gotten that project to the point where I could read a sector of data from the disk, but never could wrap my head around how to actually navigate even a simple file system like FAT16. It was this code that I had adapted for Wrap030, so when it didn't work, I assumed it was a problem with my logic.

Turns out I had just inadvertently clobbered a register in the disk check function. The logic worked just fine. I was able to write a couple quick BASIC programs to read a sector of data and even run code from the boot sector.

My assembly function for reading data from disk however was still not working.

I tried rewriting it.

I tried rewriting it in C instead of assembly.

I tried again, and again, and again. I added delays and loops and print statements and everything I could think of. I scoured datasheets, read though all the different release versions of the ATA specification, ported code from other projects, looked at every example of reading from an IDE disk I could find.

No matter what I did, I always got the same result.

This did not make any sense. Reading from an IDE disk involves setting up the sector address, the number of sectors to transfer, sending a read command, and then reading the IDE data port 256 times per sector. Each time the data port is read, the disk will give another 16-bit word of data. But for some reason, all I was getting was the first word of data returned 256 times.

There is nothing in the specification to explain this.

I knew there was nothing wrong with my logic, because I could read the data just fine with my BASIC program or by manually poking the right addresses using the monitor. Maybe there was some edge case affecting timing when running in assembly, but even adding delay loops and print statements didn't have any effect.

I reached out for help. I got great feedback on my read functions and my timing and how IDE and CompactFlash cards worked, but still could not solve this problem.

But then @ZephyrZ80 noticed something —

I had shared my code and was explaining that I had added some extra NOP instructions to enforce minimum time between IDE access cycles in PIO-0 mode. At 25MHz with cache enabled, the 68030 can complete an instruction in as little as 80ns, so a few NOPs would ensure enough time elapsed between cycles.

With cache enabled.

… cache enabled.

… cache.

The 68030 has 256 bytes of data cache. My disk read function is running in a tight loop that only really hits a few addresses; not nearly enough to invalidate and flush the entire 256 bytes of cache. The CPU does have a cache inhibit signal to use with peripherals that return new data on subsequent access to the same address, but it turns out I was only asserting it when accessing the UART on the main board.

It's a simple enough hypothesis to test. When I initially added support in my ROM for enabling cache at startup, I included user functions for enabling and disabling cache.

… It was cache all along.

Now I need to add some way to inhibit cache while accessing the IDE port, and then I can move on to trying to use the disk for loading programs.